Shit...

Shit, it's been almost ten years and I've put on almost fifty pounds and sport a full beard with hair hanging halfway down my back. She must be part of la Favor's crew now or he's got her turning tricks for the bar crowd here. Or maybe not! I now remembered that Angel had danced here at the Aragon from time to time back then. Maybe she had been the one that snitched us off. That's why la Favor came back up the stairs that night. When they took her downstairs to the car she must have told la Favor that I was there but I must have been hiding up in the attic. That's why they were going to burn the place down. la Favor could never have gotten his fat ass up into that crawl space. I reached inside my jacket and felt the miniature baseball bat tucked inside the inner pocket. It was a memento from my childhood. They only thing I had found when I rooted through the burned down remains of my childhood home. la Favor hadn't waited for the two week deadline that he gave me. It had been only eight days since he had called me when I got back home. When I pulled my rental car up into the driveway all that was left standing was the garage. I had walked around aimlessly poking at the rubble. I found the Minnesota Twins bat stuck under a fallen and charred ceiling beam.

It was only slightly burned and discolored but intact. It was from a game day giveaway from the only time my father had taken me and my shit older brother, Ronnie, to a pro baseball game. The Twins versus the Yankees. The Twins had yet to come close to winning a World Series and had gotten the crap beaten out of them that day. But it still had been a great day. My brother and I had been allowed to binge on the hot dogs and watered down Cokes while the old man got belligerently drunk on draft Hamm's beer. To my delight my brother had gotten hideously sick on the dogs and barfed right there in the stands. "Your daddy ran off three days before that criminal cocksucker burned his place down!" I looked up to find my father's ancient neighbor, Roy Huffman, standing in the driveway. He had looked a hundred years old when I was a kid and still looked about the same. Not a day younger or a day older. "You the one that Cletus la Favor ran out of town aren't you? The one that cracked that fucker in the head with a baseball bat." "That's me all right." "Well, your daddy figured out once Pighouse Pete got himself killed up at the prison that old Cletus was going to start coming around to finish old scores so he took off. Packed up some shit in his old pickup and was gone. Must have been about five in the morning. Bought the time I came out to get the Star Tribune. If that shit for brains paperboy found the right yard to fling it in that is." "Any idea where he went?" "Don't have a clue. Can't say that I'd tell you anyway if I knew. I'd prefer not to have Cletus la Favor come over here and burn my goddamn house down. That big son of a bitch always was fond of fire for some reason. That and running cats over with lawnmowers He was an evil shit even as a child."

I dug the small bat down into a pile of what appeared used to be my old rock album collection. The only cover I could make out was Lynyrd Skynyrd's Second Helpings. "I guess you're right on that call." I started towards my car. "You planning on planting that bat upside Cletus's head again?" The old fart laughed with a wheeze brought on by a lifetime of Lucky Strikes. I stopped at looked at the bat I still held in my hand for a second and then looked back at our old neighbor. "You know, that's one hell of a fucking idea. Where do you think I could find that fat tub of shit?" Roy spit in the grass and looked around like someone may be listening. "The Aragon Bar. Without a doubt. That nasty pricks whole life has revolved around that crap-pile. Strippers and booze and drugs. Wouldn't surprise me if he has a bed in his office there." He turned and headed towards his house and then quickly turned around. "But you didn't hear that from me." I decided right then and there to check out the "The best defense is a good offense" theory that you always here sportscasters babbling about. Angel had my beer on a tray but sidled over to where la Favor stood at the bar, hunched over as he weeded through a stack of Easy Rider and Hustler magazines. She gave a quick glance towards my direction and then began to whisper in his ear.

I pushed away from my table and was already five feet behind them when they both started to turn towards me. Cletus had his hand in his jacket pocket and was pulling out a pistol. Looked like a military issued .45. As he turned he started to raise his arm up. I wound up my swing from my hip. "Eat this, bitch!" The bat caught Cletus just at the point where the jaw meets the ear. You could have heard the crack out the bar and across the street. Spit and blood shot from la favor's mouth. The bat shattered upon impact and the top half flew across the bar and smashed into the mirror that was behind all the dusty booze bottles, sending the broken shards of glass flying. Cletus's legs seemed to lock in place and he fell face down on the floor, stopping on the way down to smack his face on the old time brass foot rail. I turned to Angel but she was already busting ass out the back door. I didn't hear the shot from the midget's pistol.